


Ghosts Aren't Allowed Eggnog

by spirantization



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Christmas Eve, Christmas Party, Demons, Eggnog, F/M, Occult, Post-Season/Series 03, Power Outage, Secret Santa, Spell Failure, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 21:22:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17149301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spirantization/pseuds/spirantization
Summary: There's a Christmas party that's missing some light, and Lucifer should probably stop helping humans with witchcraft.





	Ghosts Aren't Allowed Eggnog

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PixelByPixel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PixelByPixel/gifts).



> For PixelByPixel, who prompted "blackout" and requested additional Linda. I hope you enjoy!

“What is this?” Lucifer asked, holding the piece of paper between the very tips of his thumb and index finger. It was red and green and glittery and covered in exclamation marks.

“It’s an invitation to my Christmas party!” Ms. Lopez exclaimed. “You should come!”

“Ella, this is so sweet,” the Detective said, looking down at her own invitation. She probably didn’t feel any revulsion about the glitter, what with her child’s predisposition for making a mess with it everywhere. It was an admirable trait. Lucifer, on the other hand, was probably going to have to burn his suit just to get the glitter out, and that would be a waste of a perfectly good Armani.

“I won’t be seeing my family this year over the holidays,” Ms. Lopez was explaining. “I volunteered to work on Christmas Day so Nelson could spend the day with his kids, plus travelling to Detroit at Christmas is like, brutal. So I thought I would do the whole Christmas thing with my Los Angeles family instead. There’ll be lots of eating, drinking, Secret Santa, singing Christmas carols. It’ll be fun!”

Christmas carols? It all sounded rather ghastly, actually, but Ms. Lopez was looking at him with her large, pleading eyes. “You can bring Amenadiel, if you’d like,” she said.

“I’m sorry, was that offer supposed to make this evening more or less enticing for me?” said Lucifer. Possibly the only thing worse than being forced to listen to people sing Christmas carols was being forced to listen to _Amenadiel_ sing Christmas carols.

“Well, Trixie and I will be there,” the Detective said to Ella, nodding happily. She didn’t look at him, but she did place her hand on his elbow. “And we’ll be in the holiday spirit. Trixie is determined to learn ‘Carol of the Bells’.”

“Awesome!” said Ella. “You’ll be there too, right Lucifer?”

Of course he would: Ms. Lopez had invited him, and he enjoyed her company, even if her idea of fun didn’t exactly match up with his. And the Detective would be there, which really closed the deal. Still, it wouldn’t do it agree too easily. He had a reputation to maintain. “I suppose I can check my schedule,” he said.

“Come on, Lucifer,” said Ella. “I need you to be the tenor. _Angels we have heard on high, sweetly singing o’er the plains_ —”

“No, no, no,” he said, physically recoiling. “That is where I draw the line.”

“ _—And the mountains in reply, echoing their joyous strain—_ ”

“Absolutely not.” There was no way he was singing _Gloria in excelsis Deo_ ever again. If Ms. Lopez was set on torturing him, she was doing a pretty good job of it.

The Detective squeezed his arm slightly, but spoke to Ella. “Maybe we can stick to the fun, secular carols,” she suggested. 

The pressure of her hand on his arm was comforting. He could count on her to be there and be a buffer between him and all of the religious nonsense that he was sure to have to endure. Besides, this would be his first Christmas party. It might be interesting to see what all the fuss was about.

“We can do that!” Ella said, beaming. “I am an equal opportunity lover of Christmas carols. I’ll sing anything.”

“I am not singing a single note in praise of my Father,” Lucifer announced. “Songs about a home invader dressed in red or flying reindeer, and that’s it.” It was quite the gracious concession on his part, if he said so himself.

“Thanks guys!” Ms. Lopez grinned. “We’ll draw for Secret Santas when everyone has gotten their invite. Don’t forget to wear your best Christmas sweaters!” With a wave that so cheery it looped back around to sinister, she bounded off to entrap further victims.

Lucifer sighed. “Honestly,” he said. “The things I do for humans.” The Detective patted his arm gently.

“Have you ever been to a Christmas party before?” she asked.

“If you consider an orgy to be a type of party, then yes.”

“I don’t,” she said, which was a bit of a shame but hardly a deal-breaker when it came to her. “This will be f—” she squinted at him, and then changed what she had been about to say “— fascinating for you.”

He looked down at his invitation, which had shed glitter onto the precinct floor. It probably would be fascinating, in its own way.

* * *

“Merry Christmas Eve!” said Ella, throwing open the door to her apartment. “Come on in and grab a drink!”

“This party may not be half bad, actually,” Lucifer said, stepping through the door. He wasn’t wearing a Christmas sweater — no force in Heaven or Hell could sway him on that — but he was wearing a green pocket square. Hopefully Ms. Lopez would appreciate the lengths he went to in order to be festive.

Amenadiel stepped through the door behind him. The swot had become completely engrossed in blending in with humanity during Christmastime, and was unbearable. He was wearing a cable-knit Christmas sweater. He was wearing a _Santa hat_. It was, frankly, embarrassing to be related to him.

“Lucifer, Amenadiel, you came!” shouted Dr. Linda from the next room, holding up her glass.

“Ah, Doctor, good to see you,” he said.

“There’s eggnog!” she announced, and left it at that.

The living room was stuffed full with a squishy couch and and eclectic collection of chairs. A Christmas tree was propped up in the corner, decked out with multicoloured blinking lights and sparkly ornaments. There was Christmas music playing from a speaker in a corner somewhere: currently “Jingle Bell Rock”. Linda and Maze were laughing about something on the couch.

It was… cozy. Not a rager, but he’d only been here for a minute. There was still plenty of time to fix that.

“Here,” he said, holding out the gold-wrapped box that held his present. “I limited myself to your absurd $50 limit. And I brought good whiskey.”

Technically, he had. The gift wrap hadn’t cost that much, and the signed copy of _The Importance of Being Earnest_ had been free from the source — although come to think of it, didn’t human consider regifting to be rather gauche? Too late to change it now. Hopefully his giftee would appreciate it even though he was flaunting human gifting etiquette.

“Awesome!” Ella said, putting his gift on a table next to a brightly-coloured gift bag with a cartoon Santa. “Mi casa es su casa, guys. Drinks are in the kitchen, snacks are on every flat surface I could find, and the TV is keyed up for karaoke.”

Amenadiel added his own gift on the pile. It looked small; it was probably a gift card to JCPenny or a tote bag that folded into a little pouch. “You have a wonderful home,” he told her solemnly. 

“Come look at my Christmas tree!” Ella gushed, and hauled Amenadiel away.

“Eggnog it is, then,” Lucifer said to himself, turning into the kitchen. He found a large glass bowl and a collection of glass mugs beside it. He ladled some into a glass and tried it. He made a face and screwed open the cap of the whiskey he’d brought.

“Would you like some egg with your nog?” came a voice from beside him.

“Eggnog should ideally be a third alcohol,” Lucifer said, upending half the bottle over the bowl. “Although I’m not surprised the Angel of Death doesn’t know that. I don’t imagine you get invited to many parties.”

Azrael scoffed. “Do you know how many people die from eggnog-related complications every year?”

“Is that why you’re here? Come to harvest souls from fatal eggnog consumption? And I thought _I’d_ be the Grinch at this party.”

“Nope!” she said. “It’s Ella’s Christmas party. I’m here to let loose! Have a good time!”

“By lurking in the kitchen?”

“I’m not _lurking_. I just happen to be standing here.”

“Does Ms. Lopez know you’re here?” he asked, taking a swig of his new concoction. Much better. “Did she even invite you?”

“Of course she invited me,” Azrael said. “She said, and I quote, ‘Come and meet everyone!’”

“Does it count as meeting them while you stand in the corner, invisible?”

“I’m not supposed to reveal myself to humans unless they’re dead or dying,” she said defensively. “You know what Dad’s like. Please don’t let on to anyone that you can see me. Help me keep my cover.”

“A cover you wouldn’t have to keep if you’d just been honest with the poor girl to start with,” Lucifer said, ladling out a second mug of his newly improved eggnog. Time to get the good times rolling. “Have you considered the long-lasting psychological implications of making her think she’s crazy for years on end?”

“Lu, are you seriously _scolding_ me right now?” she said in disbelief. “Ella doesn’t know the truth about you, either—”

“Only because she doesn’t believe me, not because I’ve been lying and telling her that I’m a _ghost_ —”

“It was a good solution!”

“Delusional. I don’t know how we’re related,” Lucifer said. Azrael made a motion to take the second mug, but he pulled it out of her reach. “Ghosts aren’t allowed eggnog,” he told her, breezing past her back into the living room.

The Detective had arrived, as had Daniel, along with their offspring, who was currently engaged in some choreographed dance to “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” with Ms. Lopez. Amenadiel was looming in the corner by the tree, probably trying to look casual and failing by his very nature.

“Detective!” Lucifer said, veering towards her. “Here, have some eggnog.” He pressed the mug into her hands; she looked up at him and smiled. He felt nice and warm inside, which just went to show that he’d got the ratio of whiskey to eggnog just right.

“Thanks, Lucifer,” she said. She took a sip and choked, coughing a little. “Oh my God, that’s potent.”

“He had nothing to do with it,” Lucifer clarified. Honestly, the Detective should know better. His Father was a boring teetotaler. Probably. “I was the one who took it upon myself to spice up Ms. Lopez’s existing recipe.”

“Well, ’tis the season,” she said, clinking her glass against his and taking another sip, managing not to choke this time.

“Aww,” said Azrael, who had apparently followed him. The more things changed, the more thing stayed the same, it seemed; she’d spent most of her childhood trailing after him in the Silver City as well.

“Don’t start,” he told her.

“Come on, Lucifer,” said the Detective, who had naturally assumed he’d been talking to her. “Get into the Christmas spirit!”

“Merry Christmas!” Ella said, bounding over. “It means so much that I get to spend time with you guys without having to think about work or blood or brain matter —”

“You might want to stop mentioning those things, then,” said Azrael.

“Right, anyway,” said Ella, glancing at Azrael and then pretending she hadn’t.

“This is wonderful, Ella,” said the Detective. “Thanks so much hosting this.”

“The only thing that could possibly spoil this night,” said Lucifer, “was if a ghost were to show up.” Ella inhaled a little of her drink. He waited for her coughing to subside, then added, “Like in a Christmas Carol.”

“The movie with the muppets was the best!” said Ella, laughing, while the Detective looked at him curiously. Azrael was scowling at him from his peripheral vision.

“Jerk,” said Azrael. He ignored her, smiling benignly at Ms. Lopez instead.

“Speaking of, we should sing!” said Ella hastily. “Who’s up for some Christmas carols?”

And that was when the power went out, which showed that perhaps there was some divine mercy after all.

“Aw, my Christmas tree!” came Ella’s voice. “It’s not as much fun without all the lights on it.”

“Does anyone have a flashlight?” said Daniel. “My phone’s out of juice.”

“Mine too,” said the Detective, sounding puzzled. “That’s weird. I charged it before I came here.”

“Is anyone’s phone working?” said Dr Linda. Lucifer checked his own and frowned; there was no power. That definitely shouldn’t have happened.

“What kind of blackout affects batteries?” Daniel said, trying all the switches just in case.

Lucifer met Maze’s eyes. His vision was fine, accustomed to the darkness of Hell; she was a being of Hell itself, and was most comfortable in the dark. She was frowning, and he was sure they were thinking the same thing.

“Not the regular kind,” he replied.

“Nobody panic!” said Ella. “I have candles!” There was a thump as she attempted to go to the next room.

“Guys, look outside,” said Linda, peering through the curtains. “I can’t see anyone with power out there. The whole city might be affected.”

Amenadiel crossed over to where Lucifer was standing with the Detective, a frown on his face.

“Whatever happened hasn’t immediately killed anyone,” Azrael offered right off the bat. “So it wasn’t any sort of explosion or concussion force. But if this keeps up much longer, there are going to be casualties. Life support systems and backup generators will be offline.”

“What’d you do?” said Amenadiel, turning to Lucifer.

“Me?” Lucifer said. “I haven’t done anything. Detective, do you see the kind of baseless accusations I have to put up with?”

“Oh, come on, Luci, the timing was just a bit too coincidental, don’t you think?”

“Could it be, y’know, something…” The Detective dropped her voice down to a whisper. “…Supernatural?”

“It does scream of typical demonic behaviour,” Azrael admitted.

“It could be a demon,” Lucifer said. “But the only demon currently on the earthly plane is sitting on a couch eating nachos instead of offering anything in the way of assistance.”

“Three angels is three too many,” Maze shouted. Daniel looked at her strangely and then carried on clearing away space to put down candles.

The Detective looked around. “Who’s the third angel?”

“Azrael,” said Amenadiel. “Who’s here, for some reason. Interesting choice of venue, sister.”

“Hi!” said Azrael, waving at the Detective. “Nice to meet you!”

“Why would you wave at someone you know can’t see you?” Lucifer hissed. “You look ridiculous. Detective, ignore her.”

“Okay,” said the Detective, closing her eyes briefly in that way she did that indicated she was annoyed with something. “I will ignore the angel that I can’t see or hear or touch.”

“Well, when you say it like that —” Lucifer started, but Amenadiel cut across him.

“Stop it,” he said. “We need to go fix whatever is causing this mess, before it gets worse.”

“Excellent idea,” said Lucifer. “Brother, you should go fly around the city until you find out what happened, and then do a little divine smiting. Problem solved faster than I can finish my eggnog. I will stay here and guard the humans.”

“It will go faster if you come with me,” said Amenadiel through gritted teeth.

“I’ve just been drinking eggnog with the Detective!” he protested. “I shouldn’t drink and fly. It would be so irresponsible. Take Azrael.”

“Lucifer, this could be serious,” said the Detective. “Whatever we can do it help solve this, we need to do.” She was so — _annoyingly good_ sometimes. Of course she’d say something like that and make him feel guilty for trying to make Amenadiel do all the hard work. If she were an angel, she’d already be flying around the city and probably would have located the problem already.

Of course, if she were an angel, she’d also be his sister, and it was best to stop that train of thought in its tracks. He preferred her human, thank you very much.

“And if it’s a demon,” said Amenadiel. “Then it’s definitely your problem.”

Linda appeared beside him before he could reply. “Lucifer, do you have your lighter?” she asked. “Ella found candles, but she can’t get the matches to light.”

Lucifer reached into his pocket and dug out his lighter. He flicked it and frowned; there was the telltale _snick_ sound, but no flame appeared. “Odd,” he murmured.

“Say, Lightbringer,” said Linda with a forced amount of cheer, handing him a candle. “Would it be possible to bring some light?”

Light was easy; fire was even easier. It was no effort at all to call forth the flame to the wick. The flame took hold of the wick, then abruptly sputtered and died.

“Well, that’s not good,” said Azrael.

Whatever was happening wasn’t affecting his powers directly — there was only one force in the universe that could do that, and it appeared this wasn’t His doing — but it was tampering with the results, which was still within the realm of Not Good.

“I _may_ consider conceding the point that this _might_ be a big deal,” said Lucifer. He sighed. “ _Fine_. I will go investigate. And you?” he directed at Azrael.

“I’m coming with you,” said the Detective, naturally.

“I like her,” said Azrael approvingly. “Sorry, brothers. The why or how humans die isn’t in my wheelhouse. And if this goes on too much longer, I’m about to get real busy.” With a rustle, she was gone.

Lucifer gestured to the front door of the apartment. “Shall we?”

By the time they’d made it downstairs, Amenadiel had come and gone. “I’ve found the source,” he said.

“Ah, see?” said Lucifer. “Hardly need me.”

Amenadiel was unimpressed. “Funny,” he said blandly. “I need you to take care of this. It’s coming from a house not far from here, and there is a powerful demonic energy emanating from inside. I’m going to slow time in a few pockets of the city, and try to stave off death where I can. So you will try to be speedy, won’t you?” With a rustle of feathers, he was gone.

“So pompous,” Lucifer grumbled, sliding into his car, the Detective climbing in the other side.

“He has a point,” she said. “We need to get there fast before things get really bad out there.”

“Don’t start,” he said, turning the key in the ignition. Nothing. Talk about willing words into reality.

“I guess we should have thought of that,” Chloe said, climbing right back out. He followed her.

“Looks like we’ll be going by Angel Express after all, Detective,” he said, holding out his hand to her. She stepped into his embrace, and in a flash, they were airborne.

The epicentre of an enormous power vacuum was alarmingly easy to find. Whoever was doing this wasn’t very good at masking their location. The blackout hadn’t reached the whole city yet, but there was a patch of deep darkness in the middle of Los Angeles, and it was growing.

He landed on the front lawn and tucked his wings away. The Detective stepped back, gasping for breath. It had probably only felt like a few seconds to her — he could be very fast when he wanted to be, of course.

“Apologies for the whirlwind ride,” he said. “But as you said, time is of the essence here.”

“S’okay,” she croaked. “Just wasn’t expecting the — overall blur.” She took a deep breath and righted herself, sliding back to cool and composed once more.

“We’re here,” he said, nodding to the house. “The power suck is coming from the basement.”

The Detective peered through a window into the basement. “I can’t really make out anything,” she said. “But it looks like there’s a light in the next room, which makes this our most likely target.”

Lucifer banged on the door. “Bad guy and/or demon!” he called. “Open up!”

“Don’t break down the door,” the Detective said.

“No need,” he said. “It’s unlocked!” He turned the knob and felt the locking mechanism release. “These careless gated communities, am I right?”

“That would be more convincing if you tried the door _before_ telling me that it was unlocked,” she said, drawing her gun. She didn’t try to stop him, though, which just went to show how much she appreciated his methods and reasoning.

Lucifer strode through the door and into the dark house. There was a Christmas tree in the corner of the living room, and the rest of the house was permeated with the sort of sterility that only suburban houses could achieve. He opened the basement door and headed down the stairs, the Detective following behind.

There was a dark figure kneeling in the centre of the room, a few candles and hunks of rock before them. The Detective levelled her gun. “LAPD,” she said.

The figure looked up at them and screamed very loudly.

A high pitched, girl’s scream.

“Oh, for goodness sake,” said Lucifer. The girl couldn’t be more than fourteen, and it looked like she’d been crying for a while.

“I’m sorry,” the girl sniffled. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Do what?” asked the Detective.

“The spell,” came the response. “I don’t know how to stop it.”

“A witch?” Lucifer complained. “You’re a witch?” He walked over to her and looked down. She was sitting in the middle of what looked like a pentagram, for goodness’ sake.

The Detective sighed and holstered her gun. “What’s your name?” she asked.

There was a sniff. “Brianne,” she said.

“Okay, Brianne,” the Detective said. “My name’s Chloe Decker, and this is my partner, Lucifer Morningstar.”

“Oh!” Brianne said, eyes wide. “Um, Praise Satan?” She made a weird sort of bowing motion.

“Oh for —” Lucifer spluttered. The Detective was shaking her head. “Stop that at once. I’m not here to have you pledge your soul to me, or whatever you witches do in your free time. I’m only here because of your shoddy spellwork. Did you know there’s a blackout covering the entire city?”

“I didn’t mean to,” said Brianne. “I found this old book in a second-hand store, and I thought it looked cool.”

“Where are you parents?” the Detective asked. Such a responsible question. He could always count on his detective for that.

“They’re out at a work Christmas party,” Brianne said, sniffing. “Please don’t call them. They’ll ground me forever. I thought I’d try a spell while they were gone. I found a spell to power up crystals, and it looked easy and fun. But then I couldn’t get any of the lights to turn back on. ”

Lucifer sighed. He shouldn’t help her. He really shouldn’t. This was how he’d gotten a reputation for being associated with witchcraft to begin with — correcting the mistakes of incompetent humans who’d been messing around with drawing lines on the ground and invoking forces they had no business meddling in. “You didn’t put any restrictions on your spell,” he said grudgingly.

Brianne blinked up at him. “What?”

“You didn’t put any restrictions on your spell,” he repeated. Honestly, humans. “You didn’t limit the type of power you wanted to harness. All types of power, all over the city, as dumping into your crystal. It’ll keep going until you pass out.”

Brianne was gaping at him. “Am I gonna die?” she whispered.

“Of course not,” said the Detective immediately, crouching down beside Brianne and holding onto the girl’s arm reassuringly. She turned her head towards him and mouthed, ‘Right?’

“You’re not going to die,” he confirmed. “Although you’ll have an unenviable hangover tomorrow, so, Merry Christmas, I suppose.”

“Can you fix it?” the girl hiccupped.

“Of course I can,” he said. “But I won’t.” He looked at the Detective, who raised an eyebrow at him. He smiled blithely at her and turned back to the worst witch. “You’re going to do it.”

She sat up straight. “How?”

“I’ll do this favour for you,” he said. “But you must promise me a favour in return.”

“Anything,” she said.

“I wouldn’t go promising that —” the Detective began, but he cut across her.

“Too late, deal’s made. So, tiny witch — how did you do the spell in the first place?”

“The book said to light three candles and focus on pouring the light from the candles into the crystal.”

A basic power transference spell. It was simple enough, although it shouldn’t have had the power to wipe out all the power in a city of Los Angeles’ magnitude. And that crystal shouldn’t still be receiving power; surely it was full to the brim and would have cut off automatically. Still, it was easy enough to end.

“So blow out the candles,” he said.

“That’s it?” she said.

“Try it and see what happens,” he said, nodding to her candles.

Brianne screwed up her face and blew on the flames. There was a moment where they existed in the darkness and silence; then, the flames reignited once again.

“What does that mean?” the Detective asked. She was looking more and more worried by the moment, which wouldn’t do at all. It was Christmas Eve; she was supposed to be relaxing and drinking eggnog with him, not frowning at the actions of an incompetent, unsupervised teenager.

“It means that _someone_ isn’t being all the way truthful,” he said. “Little witch! Be honest now, because I haven’t got all night. Was there anything you forgot to tell Old Scratch, hmm?”

Brianne hesitated. “The book…”

“Yes?” he prompted.

“It kind of said to call on the power of, um…” She bit her lip. “Moloc?”

“You’ve been funnelling power to a _demon_?” he said. It explained more than it didn’t; there was no other reason why the spell would have had such a great reach. Of course she’d had a little Hellish assistance. If he knew Moloc — and he did — the opportunistic little worm was keeping the floodgates open and gulping down all the power he could until his connection got cut. Lucifer was pleased he wouldn’t have to exist on the same plane as the conniving demon. He was sure to be absolutely insufferable.

“Friend of yours?” the Detective said wryly.

He snorted. “Hardly.” He stepped up beside Brianne. “If I may, my dear?” he asked, then placed his hands on either side of her head.

He could feel the connection, Moloc’s tendrils of power hooked into the witch. Power was streaming through her and down to her unintended ally in Hell. The fact that she could even handle the amount of energy channelling through her was impressive.

“Hello, Molly,” he crooned. There was a ripple of shock through the connection, and a lingering impression of _oh, shit_ , and then the connection severed, as though steel jaws had clamped down across it.

The flames of the candles went out, and a moment later, the ceiling lights flickered back on.

“Let there be light,” the Detective said. He decided to let it slide this one time. Just because it was Christmas.

“Is that it?” Brianne asked faintly.

“That’s it,” Lucifer said, releasing her head and stepping away. “Now, about our little deal…”

“Oh, Lucifer, leave her be,” said the Detective. “She’s just a kid. I’m sure she’s learned her lesson. Haven’t you?” she directed at Brianne, who nodded vigorously.

“I’ll never do anything like this again,” she said. “I promise.” She winced and put a hand to her head.

“Now, now,” said Lucifer. “A deal’s a deal. I helped you with your little spell problem, and now you must do something for me.” He looked at her carefully. She looked completely terrified, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, in this case. A little fear might make his words stick. He drew himself up to his full height. “From now on, you’re going to draw a circle around yourself before you go playing around with any spells.”

“I — will,” she said, confused.

“An unbroken circle,” he clarified. “In salt. Don’t reuse the salt for future protection circles, and don’t use it for anything else. Dissolve it in water and put it back in the earth.”

Brianne nodded vigorously. “Okay.”

“And for goodness sake, _don’t_ go calling on any demons to power your spells,” he said. “There’s no living with them after that.”

“I promise.”

“Excellent!” He looked over at the Detective. “What do you say? Still time to finish off our eggnog? I might even stay in the same room while Ms. Lopez sings a Christmas carol or two.”

The Detective ignored him, her attention focussed on Brianne. Honestly, he was the one who’d done all the hard work here, and this was the thanks he got. “Are you alright?”

Brianne winced. “My head is killing me,” she said.

“Bed,” the Detective said firmly. “I’ll get you some water and Advil. Upstairs, let’s go.” She shepherded her up the stairs. On the way up, he heard her say, “I’m not going to tell your parents, but only because I have no idea how I’m supposed to explain any of this.”

Lucifer lingered in the basement, paging through the book that the girl had used for her spell. It was old, by human standards, but appeared to be a fairly standard spellbook; nothing that should have really caused any upset on this level.

The girl, Brianne, was another matter. It had been some time since he’d encountered a human with any sort of noteworthy power. He’d have to keep an eye on her, make sure she didn’t cause him any trouble, and make sure she didn’t go doing anything outrageous like making animal sacrifices to him under a full moon.

The Detective came back downstairs in short order and they left the house together, walking in silence along the street brightly lit with Christmas lights and decorations. There didn’t appear to be any evidence of mass panic or hysteria that humans liked to fantasize about; probably they all stayed at home and sang saccharine songs at one another and everybody would forget about the whole thing by the next day.

“So, magic and witches, huh?” she said at last.

“Yes,” he said. “Although sadly no Hogwarts.”

“I didn’t think magic existed,” she said. Ever the skeptic, his Detective. It wasn’t surprising. He shrugged.

“What is magic but the human term for the raw power that shapes and binds the whole universe?” he said. “Humans are generally oblivious to it, but the odd one crops up who can manipulate it this way or that. One might even call my gifts the work of magic.”

The Detective hummed thoughtfully. “Is that why you’re so heavily associated with the occult?”

Lucifer huffed. “Honestly, you give some naked women in the woods a few pointers here and there over the centuries, maybe have an orgy or two —”

“Of course,” she said, suspiciously straight-faced.

“—And suddenly it’s all ‘Dark Lord this’ and ‘Prince of Darkness that’, but I was never responsible for bestowing them with magical abilities to begin with. That’s innate.”

She wound her arm through his, a solid presence against his side. He tried not to shiver, which would be a completely illogical reaction. “So what will happen to Brianne?”

“I’ll put her in touch with a witch or two — there’s always a few kicking around LA, and they all owe me favours.”

She pulled him into a brief sideways hug and he tried to control his ridiculous heart from jumping around in his chest. “Helping her is a good thing.”

He cleared his throat. “I suppose that counts as a Christmas miracle.”

She gave him a look that suggested she wasn’t fooled, and the heat in his chest grew a little more, as it always did when she looked at him like that. He blinked first, pulling away slightly. “Come now, Detective,” he said. “We don’t want to miss the festivities.”

* * *

They sidled back into the party less than thirty minutes after they left. The lights were back on, and Ms. Lopez had roped everyone into a rendition of “Silent Night”. Lucifer leaned against the wall next to Linda while the Detective found her offspring.

“Crisis averted,” Lucifer said.

“What was it?” said Linda. “Some high powered demon?”

“Yes, actually,” said Lucifer. “Accidentally aided by an incompetent baby witch. A remarkably _powerful_ incompetent baby witch, but still.”

“Accidentally?” Linda repeated. “So it wasn’t some great plot to drain LA of all its power and use it for some nefarious, world-ending purpose? Demons flooding the earth?”

He snorted. “Hardly,” he said, retrieving his abandoned glass from the table next to them. “They get a bad rap for that, but I assure you they’re not interested in ruling over themselves, much less anyone else. Although I’m sure Moloc will have a good time bossing everyone around until his little power boost runs out. But no, it wasn’t some grand scheme. It was more a case of Hanlon’s razor.”

“Hanlon’s razor?”

“Never attribute to malice that which is adequately explained by stupidity.”

Doctor Linda laughed. “Merry Christmas, Lucifer.”

“Merry Christmas, Doctor.” He clinked his glass against hers.

In the kitchen, he met Azrael again on his mission to refill. “I suppose I can say the same for you, sister,” he said.

“What’s that?” Azrael asked, clutching her eggnog rather possessively as though afraid he’d snatch it from her.

“You weren’t being malicious when you told Ms. Lopez you were a ghost,” he said, topping up his and the Detective’s sadly neglected glass. “You were just being stupid.”

“I think it runs in the family,” said Azrael, which was a good point. His siblings could be so obtuse.

“You should still tell her the truth,” said Lucifer. “The Detective found out about me in a — less than ideal fashion, you might say. Things have been a bit rocky between us, and they’ve only recently started to get back to where they were. I imagine it would have gone over better if I had told her on my own terms. Ms. Lopez deserves to hear the truth from you.”

“I just — I like her, you know? I don’t want to screw that up.”

“Well, if her reaction is anything like the Detective’s, she’ll forgive you.” He thought about it. “Eventually.”

“Here’s hoping,” she muttered, and offered her mug out for a refill. He graciously obliged.

* * *

“Lucifer, the gift was supposed to be under $50!” Linda exclaimed, holding the copy of the play with utmost care.

“It _was_ ,” he protested. Free was less than $50.

“You’re supposed to guess who your Secret Santa is!” Ella said, fussing with her Santa hat.

“Who else is going to gift a signed copy of an Oscar Wilde play?” Azrael muttered from her corner. “He’s not very subtle, is he?” Ella coughed and hid a smile in the crook of her arm.

“I love it,” Linda announced, beaming at him. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said.

“Alright,” said Ella, her Santa hat at a jaunty angle on her head. “Lucifer gave the last gift, so that means he’s up next.” She deposited a large, flat box on his lap.

He peeled off the reindeer wrapping paper and opened the box. It was — hideous. Red and green, with a raised Christmas tree. There were tassels.

He looked up, and zeroed in on the Detective, who was grinning maniacally beside him. “Was this you?” he said.

“Well, what do you get the devil who has everything?” she said, lifting her hands innocently. “The ugliest Christmas sweater you can find.”

He pulled the monstrosity out of the box to a scattered collection of laughs. “Oh goody,” he said, looking at the whole thing in all its lack of glory. “The star lights up.” Where was a blackout when you needed one?

“Come on!” said the Detective, clapping her hands delightedly. “Everyone needs to have at least one horrible Christmas sweater at some point in their life. You’re way past due.”

He took off his jacket and pulled the sweater over his head to a round of applause. It was ugly and itchy, but the Detective was looking at him like he’d just made her entire year, so he might keep it on. For a bit.

“I hope you’re happy,” he huffed.

Chloe blinked, and her grin softened into a smile. “I am,” she said, playing with the bullet around her neck.

And perhaps it was just the eggnog — it certainly wasn’t the sweater — but at that moment he couldn’t deny that he was happy, too.


End file.
